Running Wild
by zabakdaz
Summary: A culmination of thoughts, centered and pulled, as if by gravity around one entity, snowballing and growing, until Sirius thought he could see nothing but Remus' face. Chronicles Sirius and Remus' life, and love and the music that moved them both


Sirius Black was sitting, quite uncomfortably, on the extreme edge of the Potter's guest bed. He had his hands firmly on his temples and shook, left to right, as though to shake the confusing thoughts from his mind (and which he often called lunacy). It was not one thought, but perhaps a culmination of thoughts, centered and pulled as if by gravity around one entity, snowballing and growing, until Sirius thought he could see nothing but Remus' face.

In the morning, as he poured milk over his cereal, he thought of Moony. He wondered, with a slight frown, if his friend was healed from last night's full moon, or was he still suffering? He should have been alarmed to think of his friend so often, but Sirius reasoned that Remus was one of his best friends, and that it was perfectly normal to worry about him.

_Dear Remus,_

_ I wish you would let me, Prongs and Wormy stay with you during holiday transformations. I hope it wasn't too tough on you. Then again, you always pull through; skin like leather, yeah, Moony? I almost Apparated to your place tonight, I was worried about you. If only your parents hadn't started hating me ever since I almost, accidentally, set your front lawn on fire. If only they believed that blue flames are harmless! _

_Padfoot's been itching to get out too. Not in front of Prongs' parents though. I'd go out for a run at night, but they check up on me every hour. I think they figure I'll go barmy on them, ever since I showed up on their doorstep. Still, they're just too nice sometimes. Not that I miss being yelled at. And well, you know, Mrs. Potter sure knows how to make a stew, so I'm not complaining much. _

_You should come by; the Potter estate is huge (thankfully, though, smaller than the Most Foul House of Black). Prongs' mother has her knickers in a twist about you. Something about how thin you looked back at King's Cross. It wouldn't be nice to deny her the pleasure. Truth is, I'm rather bored here. I can't get the record player to work. It's hell. Help, Moony, I know you'd be able to make it work. Just scored a new record by Roxy Music from the record store in the nearby Muggle town. It's called Siren, and I think this time I will make you like it. Come by some day. Surprise me._

_ Messr Padfoot _

_P.S. If you're not here for Christmas, I'll gladly endure the scorn of your parents and come pick you up myself. _

Nights at the Potter estate engulfed his soul in a sort of inescapable blackness that had him grasping the air, almost as if to lift the blanket of dark that he perceived all around him.

It was during those hours of black when his mind played tricks on him. He thought of Moony, like always. This time Moony was his and healed, with a bare chest, whispering into the crook of Sirius' neck, fingers curled, grasping his hip and pulling him in with surprising force toward his hard cock. All that lay between them was pleasure and indulgence, and when he came, he whispered, _Moony, Moony, Moony. _

These were thoughts that would not be allowed to see the light of day; it was not the type of thing that Sirius would allow himself to remember ever thinking. Sirius blamed It on the lack of music. Like an addict, Sirius could not have peace of mind without his music. He would close his eyes and see the musicians playing, eyes painted with glitter, leather hips swinging, pulsing, sex.

He tried to hear the music in his head now, in the dark. _Burn you out of my mind, I know/ You're a flame that never fades/ Jungle red's a deadly shade/ Both ends burning, will the fires keep/ somewhere deep in my soul tonight/ both end burning, burning, burn. _"Burning, burning," he murmured, and slipped a hand down his boxers. Burn, Moony, burn.

Sirius awoke the next morning, pushing to the deep recesses of his mind the thoughts that had taken over during the night. He sat there, the silence threatening to drown him; he tried again to work the record player he had brought to James' house.

He remembered the Christmas before, when Remus had given him the copper colored, slightly old turntable. It was not supposed to work in Hogwarts, not with Muggle electricity running through it. So Remus had enchanted it to feed off of magic, produce sound waves, and amplify them. But the charm was starting to wear off, and he found that he could not get it to work in the magically dense atmosphere of James' house.

Sirius was about to leave the room for some breakfast and search the Potter's library for the spell when he heard the all too familiar tapping at the window. Giving his turntable a final pat, Sirius turned around and his heart almost jumped from his throat, as if of its own will. A rather skinny owl, feathers out of order, a nail missing from one of its talons, hovered just outside the glass. Remus.

_Dear Sirius aka the smelly thing that is Padfoot,_

_ It wasn't too tough last night. Really. My parents built me a new shed. You know how my father is, obsessed with making things "more comfortable" for me. So anyway, this shed's like a small house. I guess the wolf was thankful for the room, although there's obviously no substitute for the Shrieking Shack. I missed Padfoot._

_ Incidentally, it bears reminding that of course my mother, being a Muggle, would be frightened of blue flames. Bloody horrible joke that was; she nearly passed out cold. Then again, you know, she's one for dramatics. I suppose I can endure one more album of Roxy Music. I must admit, I am fond of the name. The music...well, I've known bands to change dramatically from album to album._

_ I can't wait to go back to Hogwarts. That sounds weird, I know. It's not just the books. I'm bored. I miss my friends. _

_ -Remus. _


End file.
